Wire To Wire
by immer wenn es dunkel wird
Summary: Meet Peter Parker. He's trying to balance being a best friend, a relationship, high school and super-heroics. When Norman Osborn wakes up from his coma, everything starts to fall. Kind of difficult to say whether it's falling apart or in place. PeterAva; SamMJ, lots of friendship and bromance.
1. i - Limousine

_Wire To Wire_

| Nobody said it was easy, _y'know_, being a teenaged superhero and all. |

Note(s): Am I really going to attempt a multi-chap? Hah.. _hah, hah_. Yup. Apparently. So, I'm quite fascinated by the team/friendship dynamics in Ultimate Spiderman. They're quite fleshed out for a comedy/action cartoon. This is me delving into the relationships between the team at one hand and with others at the other hand: MJ, Harry, Deadpool, Luke's parents and aunt May. Also, changing focalization and focus, but general third person view. This can be read as a follow-up for _Magna Carta, Holy Grail. _But it's not required to have read that fic.

Warning(s): Established!PeterAva, budding!SamMJ, _Deadpool_, attempting to construct plausible interactions and relationships between the characters, trying to maintain character, ties in with canon up until _now_. /Meaning this story is going to be a filler-arc between episode 19 and episode 20(?)/

Summary: Meet Peter Parker. He's trying to balance being a best friend, a relationship, high school and super-heroics. When Norman Osborn wakes up from his coma, everything starts to fall. Kind of difficult to say whether it's falling apart or in place. PeterAva; SamMJ, lots of friendship and bromance.

_I hereby disclaim any rights_.

x

_You'll either gonna rock the boat, or have what they're handing out. – Santigold; god from the machine._

x

He is shaken awake by the incessant, rattling ring of the school bell, resounding mercilessly in the hallways and the classrooms. There's a dull thump when his elbows slide off the surface of his desk and he collides head-first with the varnished wood. Somebody snickers, maybe MJ seated diagonally behind him or Pete, a bit further down the first row, and the action draws an involuntary groan from between his gritted teeth. Straightening his posture meanwhile rubbing his painful chin, Harry Osborne angles his head a quarter to right to observe his English teacher staring him down in disappointment to which he responds with an embarrassed, almost awkward grin. He feels fatigue washing over him, a slow shower of this uncanny tiredness from sitting up the entire night, next to his unconscious father's hospital bed. This morning, a nurse had to rouse him from his sleep and helpfully informed him he had huge bags under his eyes and should get some more rest.

Harry stuffs away his expensive pencil case, with his father's Stipula fountain pen, into his backpack and turns to look at his best friend. Thoughts of hanging out like they used to do and pizzas Hawaii and catching a Coppola movie and his father finally waking up rush through his exhausted mind, crowd through another until his gaze happens to fall onto Peter's hand linked with Ava's and he nearly drops his bag. When did that happen?-He asks himself and more importantly, why didn't he know this?

Making his way over to Peter, past Luke and Flash discussing football and Sam cleaning up his desk, Harry is determined to get to the bottom of this; he's aware they've both been out of the loop, but he was under the impression that after the entire Carnage-incident they managed to restore a part of their friendship in its original state. They had been hanging around the Chem-lab with MJ on Fridays more often until of course, that overgrown sewer nightmare decided to snoop around on school property. Peter smiles at him, still holding hands with the tanned girl casually.

"Harry! Woah, _dude_, you look awful." Ava promptly shoves him aside at the statement and rolls her eyes, annoyed. They let go as the girl intends to clean up as well.

Peter clutches his side, pretending to be hurt, "Harsh, honestly. I thought I was **_special_**." There's this fondness in his voice, matching the warmth in his blue eyes when he looks at her. She flips him off but presses a quick kiss against his cheek when she leaves the classroom.

His friend looks back at him again, his hand curved over the spot where she pecked him and Harry wonders how he could've missed any of this.

"Sorry.. uhm, how's your dad?" Harry grabs the strap of his bag tightly, slung over his right shoulder in a manner he hopes comes off as casual.

Danny apologizes when he bumps against his shoulder as he walks by and Harry shrugs, both at the intrusion and the question. "Comatose, but he responds to certain sounds. Has this automatic reflex where he kicks when he hears Bruce Springsteen on the radio."

This makes Peter gasp, "How can he hate the Boss? It's like my aunt's favorite singer, well... The Boss and some weird sixties Thai garage band.."

Despite himself, he starts to laugh, a genuine sound he thought he had forgotten to make, "Pete, do I even want to know how she knows Thai garage rock?"

"I don't_ even_ know, Harry." His friend shakes his head and claps him on the shoulder. "So what else is up?"

His fingers curl around the backpack's black strap, "I wanted to ask you that actually.. You and Ayala, huh?"

There's a short pause, with Peter rubbing the back of his head thoughtfully, "It sort of happened, I guess." Peter thinks to himself that he can hardly give Harry any details, on how he started thinking about her romantically after a showdown with a hunter who specializes in tribal magic or how he kissed her during a training session on the Tri-Carrier, so he settles for a vague answer.

"You could've told me,_ y'know_, Pete." His friend murmurs, not exactly angry, but a tad disappointed and sad, almost.

Softly, nearly inaudibly, a sigh escapes his parted chapped lips, "Sorry, listen, I just figured you had a lot on your mind right now.." Peter knows he has to be careful with how much he says about Norman's condition without revealing he has insider information, "Especially now you're allowed to visit him and it didn't seem so important, that I'm,_ ahem_, dating someone." He fumbles with the fabric of his hooded vest, plays with the zipper.

His friend's lips stretch into a thin line, a gesture showing his chagrin, "You're my best friend, of course it's important.. Listen, you wanna play videogames this afternoon? Got the new GTA and then you can tell me everything 'bout your amorous escapades." His fingertips drum along the backpack strap.

Peter opens his mouth to offer a reply but is cut off by principal Coulson walking into the now nearly empty classroom. Their gazes cross, Coulson gives a slight nod before tugging on his tie in an act of professionalism.

"Parker, Alexander, my office, please." Sam looks up from his conversation with MJ, having scrunched brows and a confused expression.

Looking back at his best friend, Peter shrugs apologetically and offers a nervous smile, "See you at the gates?"

Harry let's go of his backpack strap, his hand falling listlessly by his side, "Sure, whatever." He turns to MJ and they start talking about the events of _that_ Friday, or so the teen deduces from the redhead's teasing grin and how his best friend takes on a defensive stance.

Sam nudges Peter, whispers softly, "Hurry up, Bug-breath, we pro'lly have a mission or something."

In response comes a long-stretched groan, "I hope not, hate to cancel on Harry like that."

Leading the way, Coulson stalks through the hall with even, purposeful steps, giving a nod to several students and the teacher Spanish. He pushes the door to his office open with his palm, revealing the rest of the team crowded around his large desk; Luke stands near the window with his cell phone in hand, Ava leans against the sturdy piece of furniture, her browsing through her AP Geometry brings a smile to Peter's lips and Danny, sitting in one of the plastic chairs, shoots a kind glance in his friend's direction, happy for his teammates developing relationship.

Coulson scrapes his throat, flicks the lowest light switch on and strides over to his computer; a holographic screen gets projected into the middle of the room, revealing direct security footage from inside Norman Osborn's hospital room.

Sam is,_ typically_, the first to speak up, "Dude.. Is he awake?"

His hands ball into fists, clenching tightly until his knuckles turn as white as the bone underneath, and Peter doesn't even notice how his short-clipped nails dig crimson crescents into his palm, "Since when?" He turns his head to regard Coulson.

Sitting down at his desk, elbows on the smooth surface of the desk and hands folded together, the SHIELD agent replies quickly, "Half an hour ago, approximately." He leans forwards, his shoulders sag.

On the projection, the team can observe how Osborn checks out his surroundings in a somewhat dazed manner, blinking every once in a while to adjust his vision and marveling at the texture of his arms,doubtlessly no longer used to his human body. There's a doctor moving around him to take note of his patients' progress, constantly examining the machines to which he is attached. Sometimes the image glitches, causing light blue waves to cascade over the projection.

"So has he said anything? Or tried to make a break for it when the nurses weren't looking?" Peter asks, eyes trained on one of his most dangerous adversaries and his best friend's father-Harry, the teen suddenly wants to yell, "Why haven't you guys contacted Harry yet?!"

Ava frowns at his outburst, wants to go over to him but refrains, her discipline keeping her in check. Also the others wear similar expressions and Sam casually bumps their elbows together, hissing lowly '_webhead_' to calm him down.

Coulson remains levelheaded, as to be expected, and states, "We're gauging his motives in order to prevent him from trying to escape or worse. His relatives will be contacted as soon as we know he means no harm." He sends a sharp, warning look in Peter's direction.

"Excuse me, agent Coulson," Ava says, crossing her arms over her chest, "But where do we come in?"

He nods as if to state he's coming to that point soon, "Fury wants the team to patrol the area around the hospital more thoroughly, we've set a security perimeter of three blocks and expect the team to inspect every inch for possible irregularities."

"Has SHIELD received word of a_ possible_ attack or somethin'?" Luke inquires, stretching his arms behind his neck.

Pursing his lips, Coulson carefully wages his words, "With Doctor Octavius on the loose, we're not taking any chances."

Danny nods in accordance, "Prudence is the key to all victories." His hands are in his lap and head respectfully bowed.

"Still, won't it draw some unnecessary attention to have Spiderman pulling threads around the hospital-Pun so intended by the way." Peter remarks sourly, arms rigidly glued to his sides.

Sam rolls his eyes, "Don't jinx it, idiot. Was that all, agent C?" His fingers are already curled around the door handle.

His response is a dismissive wave; the team slinks out of the office as soon as the holographic screen folds into itself and disappears into thin air. Luke walks next to the disgruntled brunet and offers a wide, easy grin.

"Don't worry so much, man. Your friend will know all the details soon enough, they're just making' sure _y'know_." His warm tone slips confidence into Peter's frame.

Ava soon catches up to them and allows her fingertips to brush against the sensitive skin of her boyfriend's wrist, "Don't let any information slip when you talk to Osborn, okay? Playing dumb usually works well for you." She adds with a teasing smirk.

Sam snickers at the girl's remark, "**_Burn_**."

Huffing, the teen says his goodbyes to the team; a chaste kiss to Ava's plush mouth, a bro-shake with the boys and a request to Luke to say hello to the parents he's finally reunited with again. His footsteps echo throughout the halls; he waves at Stan, the janitor in disguise, passes by his locker and transfers the books needed for homework and tests to his blue/red backpack, slams the metallic door shut and rotates the numeral lock. Side-stepping a puddle of spilled soda, at least Peter hopes it's soda, he opens one of the large glass with wooden frame doors. Outside, near the gates, Harry is standing, idly scrolling down his applications on the latest iPhone, with his backpack drooping down his lower back; his brows are scrunched together and the fatigue is clearly stretched over his usually handsome face.

Peter tries to conjure a semblance of happiness; tries to act natural and relaxed, -tries to pretend it's just going to be Harry Osborn and Peter Parker on one of their _geek galore_ game sessions. He swallows down any uneasiness and smiles.

"Hey-a, man. Your driver stuck in traffic?" He asks, shaking his head to get a few unruly chestnut strands out of his line of vision.

Harry looks up, "He'll be here shortly, Pete. I, uh, do you mind if we stop by the hospital first?" His tone is almost fragile.

In all honesty, he should probably deny his best friend this request, but it would kill him metaphorically to see the disappointment claim Harry's features and he'd rather not come up with a lousy excuse to say why per se. Even though he has plenty of reasons or at least one solid point: your father kind of tried to transform me into a _symbiote_, pal, I'd rather not hang around his unconscious body at the moment. However, Peter would rather be around when his friend discovers his father is no longer comatose and somewhat alive and kicking, in order to possibly protect him.

So he grins widely and acquiesces, "Not at all, Harry. Not at all." He crosses his arms behind his head and stands besides his friend dutifully, tapping his foot to an imaginary beat in impatience for the limo to arrive.

His friend smiles weakly, "Thanks. So, time to spill the beans, how did you and Ayala hook up?" One of his hazelnut-brown eyebrows is raised in genuine curiosity.

Peter hesitates, stumbles over his words for a while until he manages to get out this decent sentence: "During a midnight study session we kind of fought about Tesla versus Einstein and kisses happened?"

Harry's face was totally worth the white lie though. "Oh God, you're joking. How-Why.. I'm ten times more handsome than you and I still don't get a girlfriend, you talk about science and you end up with Ava Ayala. Life's unfair, man. _Totally_ unfair."

"Nobody can resist the Parker charm, dude. I would call it magical if I believed in magic." Peter rebukes easily, slipping his arm around his friend's shoulder.

Swatting the gesture away, the teen rolls his eyes and retorts, "You have a poster of princess Leila hanging in your closet! For _Christ's_ sake, tell me she doesn't know about that."

His grin falls away guiltily, "Maybe she does?"

"And she still wants to kiss you?! That's it, I'm getting a degree in neurobiology, apparently that's a failsafe way to get a date." Harry throws both of his hands in the air in played aggravation and lets a snicker fall between his lips.

Peter holds his hands up in surrender, "Pretty sure that's just Ava though. And she teases me about basically everything, but yeah, she still kisses my face once in a while." His features twist into a blissful expression, "She's awesome."

Their conversation gets interrupted by the sleek black limousine pulling up to the curb, followed swiftly by the soft purr of the engine before it stops entirely, then the chauffeur steps out of the vehicle and politely greets his employer and plus one, before opening the door in his crisp suit and with his freshly-washed white gloves. They get inside and make themselves comfortable with their bags between their feet. Music from the front floats through the sizable backseat, the computer-fabricated tunes flit underneath the high-pitched voice of the pop singer and causes Peter to tap his right foot along.

"So, did you guys go on a date yet?" Harry asks conversationally, slumped in the plush cushions.

He doesn't suppose going to Domino's after taking down Trapster actually counts, especially since the rest of the team decided to tag along. They did play footsie though, -well, Ava rubbed her heel along his shin causing him to choke on a sliver of tomato.- but he has this sneaking suspicion this would draw a laughing fit from his best friend.

Peter chuckles, embarrassed, "Uh, not really." His spread fingers haul through his unruly mop of chestnut hair, "I'm kind of new to this."

"Bet she'd love to hear that when you take her to an obscure, indie Sci-Fi movie and forget to buy her popcorn." Harry snarks back, crossing his legs.

He grumbles, "Oh, ha ha, Harry_. Ha ha_. Just because you, MJ and I spent one Saturday evening in a movie theater out of midtown..."

His friend interjects, "In Brooklyn, Pete. **_Brooklyn_**."

"It was a good movie, okay?" His comment falls between them and they're both smiling at the fond memories, welling up pleasantly as a result from their conversation.

Outside, the looming stereotypical skyscrapers flash by steadily, supplied by the occasional yellow blur, taxis, or the slow-moving crowd of pedestrians on the sidewalk. There's this silence around them, the kind not needed to be broken by small talk, and only interrupted by the buzz of traffic outside and the soft-playing music from the radio.

"Sir," The driver states from the speakers, "We will arrive at the Mount Sinai medical center shortly. Would you like for me to drop you off or wait?" His voice is well-trained and a tad monotone.

Peter and Harry share a look before the latter leans slightly forwards to reply, "You can wait, we'll stay for a minute or ten. To accept the get-well gifts from associates or employees."

He can't resist the jab, "Mind if I take a bouquet for my aunt? Might earn me a day off from taking out the trash."

Getting a sharp elbow in his ribs, Peter sticks out his tongue childishly and puts his palm over the sore spot, "What? You don't even like daffodils."

"So? They take up some space." His tone has this fragile lightness to it, the statement saying more than the words themselves.

Harry avoids looking directly at Peter and occupies himself with checking his text messages, sometimes frowning, sometimes close to a smile.

Feeling unsettled, the teen speaks up, "Hey, listen, don't be a stranger. Come sleep over once or eat dinner with my aunt and me. You're always welcome."

"Yeah, yeah, I might do that. Thanks, Pete.. And y'know, sorry for stuff.." He responds, putting his smart phone away.

Shrugging, Peter ignores the apology, "Yeah, well, let's not talk 'bout that anymore, com'on, dude, you need to smile more."

Harry scoffs, "That sounded way wrong, this isn't a _romcom_."

"Afraid I'd be Hugh Grant?" Comes the quick quip, alongside a slanted grin.

Screeching as the limo comes to a halt, the tires stand still slightly tuned to the left in front of the main entrance. Paparazzi, a couple of sleezeballs with their Nikon's, jolt upwards, sniffing proverbial blood and probably the trademarked hospital smell of anesthetics. Harry sighs lowly when the driver exits the vehicle , the soles of his dress shoes click-clacking on the concrete outside, and comes to open the door, giving way to a barrage of flashlights. Peter pats his friend's shoulder in encouragement before they step outside and make their way to the reception. One of the photographers comes closer, waving obscenely at the two teenagers.

"Hey, Harry, kid! Any comment on your dad's grand awakening?" His breath is reminiscent of cigarette smoke and spaghetti.

Peter frowns at the odor and tries to wave the smell away.

However, his friend on the other hand, stands with a slack jaw and stammers out unintelligibly, "Wha-what? My father is.."

In return the photographer holds up his camera, "Well, why else are all those security guards here all o' a sudden? Geez, boy, we do have some decency ya know."

The sheer look of disbelief alarms the receptionist behind the desk, who immediately starts to calm Harry down by explaining that they need to run some preliminary tests concerning his internal organs and check his reflexes before he can receive any visitors, even relatives. He's shaking, his nails digging into the surface of the receptionist's desk and his breathing strained with cheeks as pale as a sheet of paper. Peter doesn't dare move, contemplating how to proceed. Should he try to steer his friend away?- he wonders silently, tugging on the collar of his shirt.

He tries a friendly firm approach, "Harry, your dad's okay. That's great!" Keeping a tone of enthusiasm in his non-verbal movements, he proceeds,

"While they're doing check-ups, we could get something to eat. Boy, I'd sure like a sandwich now."

Harry shakes off the steady hand on his shoulder, "No!" He growls in a manner akin to Venom. The sound forces a gasp from Peter's lungs.

"I mean.." He starts, apologetically, "Ahem, I'd like to wait here until I can see him." Scratching the back of his head nervously, Harry manages a smile to assure his best friend, but comes off as jittery and rattled.

Frowning, Peter reaches for him again, "He'll probably be as high as a kite, man. Come on, you need _some_ sugars in you. And then you can visit Norman, 'kay?" His tone is soft, gentle like he's coercing a wild animal.

"Pete, listen dude, I just need to be with my dad, _right, __**now**_. He.. he might ask for me, need me to help him.. Thanks for the offer though."

Rubbing his elbow, the chestnut-haired teen nods, "Sure.. I understand, Harry. Just, uh, let me know when you two talk.. I'll be going then.." He takes a step in the direction of the entrance, pulling the straps of his backpack and letting them snap back against his chest. "G'bye."

Harry meekly follows the familiar path to the elevators, where he'll doubtlessly spend the rest of his afternoon and evening on a vomit-green plastic chair in the hallway, playing mindless games on his iPhone or working on the Literature homework they have for tomorrow. One paparazzo, a woman with vibrant red hair, gives a slight tilt of the head in Peter's direction as he walks away and he immediately gets the hint: undercover SHIELD agent. Fury is leaving nothing to chance apparently and with good reason, his mind supplies helpfully, one of the most influential men in the United States and a former supervillain is now reduced to a bedridden state, it'd be ridiculously easy to take advantage of the situation.

After telling Harry's chauffeur that he shouldn't wait up, the teen looks for a spot where he can change into his alter-ego so he can web-sling out of the hospital's parking lot and back home. Behind a parked Mercedes, secluded by a few beeches and an indigenous oak, Spiderman emerges with his backpack webbed into a white sticky shoulder-bag. He shoots a string of web-fluid to a window on the sixth floor of the hospital and uses it as leverage to lift himself several feet up in the air, until his feet stick to the wall and he can aim for another building to dart another string towards and swing back to his neighborhood.

x

I'll try to finish this story. It'll go slow, most likely. Especially when September starts, but I figured I might give it a shot. Penny for your thoughts?


	2. ii - Showdown at Mount Sinai

_Wire To Wire_

| Oh, would you _look _at that, the cavalry's arrived. |

Note(s): And the plot is starting to pick up: and it's accompanied by these cute little side-plots which I'm subtly bringing in. This chapter isn't as obscenely long as the previous one, but I tried to make things interesting regardless. Also, this is unbeta'ed so please don't refrain from pointing out any mistakes.

Warning(s): The same warnings from chapter 1 apply but let me be kind, rewind, because there's an awfully-written action scene in here as well. /Bonus: my efforts in trying to describe a robotic squid.

Chapter Summary: In which there is friendship, teasing and good advice. Also, Spiderman and Iron Fist work together to prevent a kidnapping from happening, plus Powerman and Nova decide to crash the party when it's already over.

_I hereby disclaim any rights_.

x

_After any old motherfucking blow, I'll be back. _- dEUS, instant street

x

After dinner, his aunt finally gotten round to use that Surinam recipe she won in a windsurfing competition, Peter tiredly makes his way up the staircase and pushes his door open with his shoulder, nearly slumping against the wood and collapsing into his bedroom. He blinks slowly when he notices Danny, in his _Iron Fist_ uniform, sitting in Lotus pose on his mattress with the lights dimmed and the window inconspicuously open. There's a chilly draft coming in, leaving a wave of Goosebumps in its wake on his friend's lower arms and wrists as it passes.

"Most people send a _text message_ when they come over." He jokes, shutting the door behind him and dropping face-first on the bed, next to Danny. His eyelids slide shut and his head settles on his crossed elbows.

Letting out a long-stretched sigh, the martial artist straightens his back and hums pleasantly, "Agent Coulson decided you and I should patrol the area around the Mount Sinai Hospital first and foremost. Powerman and Nova will relieve us at half past two in our task at surveying the city." His shoulders square, muscles moving underneath the tight material of his outfit. "You do not mind, do you?"

Rolling on his side, the teen suppresses a yawn and replies, "No, that's a good plan.. Sounds like a sweet deal.. You done sittin' like a flower, Danny?" He doesn't bother hiding the teasing edge to his statement.

"The practitioners of yoga call this position the _Padmasana_." His legs unfold and stretch, until they're dangling off the bed. "I have received word from director Fury that Harry knows about his father's awakening.." Danny throws a look at Peter, "Why didn't you talk him _**out**_ of visiting the hospital? Yes, director Fury knows you were present at the time." On his lips, a private smile blossoms.

Peter turns on his back, staring at the ceiling, "Oh com'on, Danny. He deserved to know and technically, I didn't tell him so Fury can _sic his blame on someone else this time_. Besides.." He quickly continues underneath Iron Fist's inquisitive stare, "I could protect him if Norman fooled everyone and their mother and was out to get him.."

Hauling a hand lazily through his hair as he sits up straight and gets up from his comfortable pillows, the teen walks over to his backpack, haphazardly thrown into a corner. "You just should've heard 'em, Danny. I was worried he'd turn all _symbiote-daddy issues _on me for a moment and **ping,** he turned as meek as a lamb. I don't know what's going on between Norman and Harry, but it's everything _but_ healthy."

Zipping open his backpack, he reveals the folded red and blue material of his suit. "What should I do?" His question slips out of his mind into the open easily, hanging between the two superheroes.

Danny pushes himself off the mattress, stretches his arms high above his head and cranes his neck until there's a satisfying pop. "Perhaps you are asking the wrong question, friend. What can you do? You can protect his father from external demons, wrong-doers and people with ill intentions. What can you do not? Mend a relationship between father and son. _That_, they will do on their own."

"I should take a lesson K'un L'un philosophy pronto." Peter quips as he pulls his mask down, over his chin. "Apparently it *_breeds_* brain cells." He kicks his backpack under the bed and jumps onto the window sill.

They go to the hospital by bike, cruising over Fifth Avenue between taxis and regular cars at a steady pace. On the holographic dashboard, the GPS bleeps their destination in a glaring red dot on the street grid. Spiderman turns right into a small one-way street, surrounded by tall gray buildings at both sides. They turn left at the end and ride straight towards the hospital; Danny's arms tighten when the wheels screech to a halt and leave a trail of rubber on the concrete. He waits until his teammate hops off to kill the engine and steps off himself, swinging his arms and clapping them in front of his chest. That's about the moment the earth started rumbling and little pebbles bounced up and down rapidly.

He cocks an eyebrow underneath his mask, "_Uhm_. I didn't do that. Did I?"

Iron Fist scans the parking lot apprehensively, taking a fighting stance to defend himself for the unexpected. "What's that moving in the dis.." He leaps to the side when something gray and colossal stampedes towards him.

Spiderman shoots a string and flies to the main hospital building, balancing himself on the wall. "**_Rhino_**?! What is big, mean and mutated doin' _over here_?!"

Skidding to a stop, the adversary turns his head to regard Iron Fist, pants escape through his thick lips; he moves about so he's facing the martial artist, scrapes his left foot menacingly over the ground and bows to raise his sharp horn. "Costumed guy _will_ pay. Rhino angry."

"Geez, what did Iron Fist do to upset you? He's a vegetarian and he recycles. Guys like him don't make rhinos go extinct, y'know." Spiderman helpfully supplies as he whirls in front of Rhino to whisk Danny away from his rampage.

Rhino growls in frustration, "Spiderman stay still! Squashing goes easier that way!" He nearly walks into the wall, pushes himself off and starts to run towards the duo again.

Iron Fist raises his fist, sparkling in a golden glow, and smashes the concrete underneath them to break off the even ground and hopefully throw Rhino off balance. He indeed topples over and howls out in pain from the collision; he tries to get up again, waving his heavy arms around in order to restore equilibrium but Spiderman webs his massive appendages to large pieces of rubble.

He grins, "Sorry, Alex. Guess the concrete jungle just isn't your playground today." Crossing his arms in front of his chest, the young hero purposefully tilts his head to admire his work, "Not that you could handle the monkey bars well."

"Urgh. Stupid Spiderman. I'll get you for this!" Rhino roars, trashing wildly but unable to break through the improved web fluid.

Iron Fist frowns, side-stepping the trapped villain and looking in the distance. "There is something stirring in the East."

Shooting another puddle of web fluid over Rhino's obscenely large mouth to shut him up, Spiderman says to his teammate, "Dude, _NYC_, not the Himalayas. What's going on?"

"Duck!" He stretches his arm and envelops his friend's shoulders, forcing them both to fall down next to the mutated boy, narrowly missing a cascade of darts, which lodge themselves into the wall before them.

Spiderman carefully supports himself on his hands, keeping low to the ground and observes their surroundings. "What was that?" His gaze falls upon the mechanic darts, "Kraven?"

"No.." Iron Fist contradicts, settling in a crouch, "Doctor Octavius sent one of his miscreants."

He jolts upwards, shooting a string in one fluid movement and swings to the third floor, surveying the area. His eyes widen when another row of darts fling themselves in his direction and summersaults away, using the solid window underneath his feet as leverage. Soft sounds of glass cracking resound as the weapons' stingers stick into the window. Spiderman lands on his feet shakily, nearly falling over and sees Iron Fist fighting a moderately big robot shaped as a squid with paw-like tentacles.

"You gotta be kiddin' me." He breathes out and jumps into the fray, using his SHIELD-issued web-balls to distract the robot from stinging at Iron Fist.

They bounce off the panzer easily, tumbling down without leaving so much as a dent. However, they manage to draw the robot's sensors to him and he waves wildly for extra effect. It starts to move, paws trampling the concrete beneath them and one stretches to grapple for a SUV, snatches the vehicle and throws the car into Spiderman's general direction. It comes whizzing straight for the wall and the hero quickly catches it mid-air with two strong webs. He hurls it back against the robot's head, effectively crushing the operating device and making it step back. Iron Fist charges, the energy transcending from his clenched fist gushing onto the concrete and collides forcefully with one of the extended paws. Metal crunches, bends and bolts pop from the girder-like legs, flailing through the air like champagne corks.

Spiderman peers over his shoulder, sees their fights drew attention from the medical staff and sighs loudly in response. He jumps back to avoid being hit by the robot's mantle, or what should constitute as a mantle with a regular squid, shoots a few quick webs to keep it from collapsing entirely against the hospital's main building and waits for Iron Fist to finish destroying the two largest tentacles which seem to operate under a different control center.

"Woah, looks like this place really lives up to its credentials." Nova jokes as he comes shooting through the night sky, his appearance is shortly followed by the telltale roar of Powerman's motorcycle.

Iron Fist nods grimly, "Rhino and an Ock-bot. This seems to become a perilous night and we haven't reach the peek yet."

"Rhino?" Nova echoes, landing onto the robot. "You let 'em_ go_?"

Spiderman rolls his eyes, "Of course not, I webbed 'em to.." He turns to look at the small-scale crater where they've toppled him over and captured him. It is empty, safe for the large pieces of rubble with the webs torn. "Ah, this is great. _Just_ great. How couldn't we notice that?"

Laughing, Powerman steps away from his amped-up bike and puts his hands on his hips, "Don't ya worry, Web-Head. He'll come back, it's awfully susp'cious that both Doc Ock and Rhino showed up near the hospital, don't ya think? Next time he rushes by, me an' Nova will shake 'em up."

"Maybe Iron Fist and I should stay here as back-up." He suggests, feeling uneasiness settle in his stomach. One of the tentacles twitches, but falls flat once again after Nova blasts it with one flimsy bolt fired from his index finger.

He blows the smoke off his gloved forefinger and grins widely, "Bug-Breath, chill. We got _**this.**_ You still need to patrol Times Square. Iron Fist," Nova turns to his teammate, "Coulson wants you back at the Tri-Carrier for a special training session tonight. We're here 'til half past three. White Tiger gets the graveyard shift 'til six."

Iron Fist nods sagely, "Understood." His gaze rests on the robot, "I'll notify him of the incidents. Clean-up will arrive shortly, I presume."

Spiderman huffs, "Alright, fine, _whateffs_. Call me when something happens." He walks over to his motorcycle, standing unscathed in the distance. "Need a ride on the Spidey-express, Iron Fist?" He calls back over his shoulder.

"My gratitude, friend. Good luck, Nova and Powerman." They wave their goodbyes at the other two, who, after returning the gesture, occupy themselves by gathering the medical staff back inside.

As the two ride off and disappear from sight, Nova flies back over to the mechanic squid and experimentally kicks the thing over, making it collide face-down on the concrete and buzzing lowly. His concentration is broken by the sound of his communicator, producing a generic tune, and presses the green button to open the holographic screen. He can't help smiling slightly as he sees a miniscule envelop in the right bottom corner.

Powerman rearranges his shades after he's assured the last three nurses that they could take it from here and strolls back over to his teammate. "What are you doin', man? Did you.. Link the communicator to your smart phone?"

"Well duh. Gotta keep _taps_ on my popularity." He retorts cheekily, stare fixated on the message projected from his wrist.

There's an eye-roll in response; Powerman drops down on the tentacle closest to him and places his hands behind his head, fingers laced together. "So who sends you a text at half pas' two, anyway? Ya' network provider?" He has a teasing smirk playing along his lips.

Nova bristles, happy expression quickly replaced by one of annoyance, "Noooo. **_Tsk_**, who do you take me for?" One quick push of the button and the screen folds itself like a roll of parchment and disappears completely. "It was Mary-Jane. She, uh, couldn't sleep." His casual tone tries to inveigle Powerman into thinking there's nothing out of the ordinary going on.

He isn't fooled, not one bit. "Right. And she probably texted you for what?, a night lullaby?" His gaze follows the boisterous superhero floating around before landing with both feet planted firmly on the broken concrete.

"I take offense to that." Nova huffs, nose scrunched in distaste at the ridiculous question.

Something rustles in the background, approximately from somewhere behind the battered robot and both heroes crane their necks to take a peek. Powerman signals Nova to prepare for a sneak-attack and softly jumps off the mechanic paw; he quickly pushes himself off once he's hit the ground and runs around the robo-squid's mantle only to see an empty parking lot, except for the three or four cars in the employee slots. He strains his ears in order to focus, but detects no other unusual sounds. Nova scans the perimeters from above and upon noticing nothing of any worth, he returns to Powerman.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest, descending in one straight line. "We're turnin' paranoid here. What 'bout we check out Central Park? Coulson said we should check out the entire area."

"Sure.." His communicator beeps and a familiar face he didn't exactly expect pops up the holographic screen, "Mom?!" Powerman exclaims, pupils wide-blown behind his shades.

Her eyebrows are arched, wrinkles set deeply at the corner of her mouth which is drawn into a thin line. Amanda begins carefully, "Powerman," Her eyes follow Nova's movements in the background before refocusing on her son, "Agent Coulson orders you and Nova to stay near the robot for the time being. We'll arrive shortly to examine the remains and recuperate the data on the hard drive." She lets out a slight sigh, almost inaudible due to the noises of machinery around her, "Approximately four point o' five minutes." Her gaze settles on him again, "Be careful. Signing off."

He drops his wrist, "Okay, well, thanks." Nova hovers close to him, the excess heat of his helmet warming his strong back.

"Dude, she's just doin' her _job_." It's an offhand statement, brought with Sam's usual nonchalance.

Letting his hands slide over the saddle of the motorcycle, the hero feels a coiling in his stomach and softly bites the inside of his cheek, a tad disgruntled. "I just.. Y'know, I thought they might wanna spend more time with me, but after our reunion, we.. They did tests, man, concentrated on the serum and then, _bam_, back to the labs."

Nova keeps quiet, nodding to himself and unsure how to proceed seeing as how he's good at giving sarcastic remarks and exchanging jokes instead of solid advice. Why wasn't Danny here, again? Eventually he says, "Maybe they're scared too.. I mean, you guys didn't see each other for a long while. And you _kinda_ thought they were dead. And they _kinda_ thought you were captured. So. I dunno, maybe you still need to get used to being a family again."

His fingers drum upon the leather and Powerman tilts his head, mulling the musings of his teammate over. "Y'know, you're not as much as a Bucket-Head as Spidey makes ya out to be." He grins, teeth bare and contrasting against his supple lips, "Thanks, Nova. And go for it, man."

"For what?" He shoots back, confused.

Powerman shakes his head, fingertips delving into the saddle. "You'll figure it out, Grade-A."

x

Updates will be more far in between from this point onwards, I'm afraid.

Penny for your thoughts?


	3. iii - Enter the Merc

_Wire To Wire_

| This should **_not_ **become the precedent of a pattern, you know. |

Note(s): Enter the Merc with a mouth, touchy-feely moments between every character in this very chapter and the obligatory and not irrelevant Drake Bell reference.

Warning(s): _Nonsense_, in multiple shapes and sizes.

Summary: So a wild Deadpool appears and might or might not break into Peter Parker's house and bed to reveal he might've had a _hand _in past occurrences. Also, Ava shouldn't be this amused about the current situation because it's not funny, **at all**. At least, Peter doesn't think so.

_I hereby disclaim any rights_.

x

_Yeah yeah, we're nice guys, until we're not. - Enter Shikari, sssnakepit_

_x_

Peter groggily opens his eyes, left arm slung over his forehead and throat dry, rolls over to the side of the window and groans loudly when he sees a masked figure perched on his window sill, in front of the glass. He wants to close his eyes again but feels recognition dawn over him, slow and in waves until the realization -**_Deadpool_**- jolts him into a sitting position and he's rubbing the sleep out of his baby blues. Deadpool seems to be delighted about his awakening, waving a carton-brown bag _to and fr_o with a grin visible through the wrinkles of his mask. In his other hand he appears to be holding a large crowbar and before Peter can throw the covers off his legs and dart towards the handle to open the window, the frame gets cracked and pushed aside so the mercenary could casually enter.

"Hey-a, Spidey. I got you some Taco Bell. Would've gone for hotdogs but you warned me 'bout those in _issue four_ or somethin'. With the monkey. You remember the.._Oh_, that's right, never mind. So, you want some? I got the spicy sauce." He blabs away, words being spewed at a gunfire pace. All the while the smell of hot taco's penetrates the usual scent of sweat, Axe deoderant and chemicals in his room.

Deadpool drops the bag of wafting knock-off Mexican food onto Peter's desk, next to his Biology homework and his hired copy of Hamlet, before wrapping an arm around the teen and pulling him against his side, "Y'know, I remembered you lookin' more _**badass.**_ What happened, baby boy?"

"What?!" He starts, shocked and a tad appalled, before he remembers aunt May and he refused to endanger her, so he continued more quietly, "_What_? How did you even know.." His pupils turn into marble-sized black dots and he throws his hands in front of his face, "You know my face.. _My identity_."

His unwanted visitor makes a gesture with his hands, as if he's trying to convey everything in one single motion. "Of course. I tracked you down. I am a high-class mercenary, y'know. And occassionally a cop, or a cleric. Depends on what you pay me." Even with the black/red mask, Peter can see the smug grin curling up Deadpool's mouth and staying there frozen. "Besides, I got a _Deadmobile_. Hah, it's like a Batmobile, only not."

Peter pushes the mercenary away from him, weaseling out of the tight grasp the freelancer had around his shoulder and stalks over to his window, looking outside. True to his albeit weird word, there's a white van parked on the street below, originally belonging to what looks like a plumbing company with the image of a tropical pool printed along the side. Above the azure water and the palm tree, someone had sprayed the word 'Dead' in a bold and brazen red grafitti, some of the paint trailing down the background like blood. _How could he have not noticed being followed by that?_!- He thinks to himself in wonder. Eventually he cranes his neck to regard the mercenary in his room again, who seems to be occupied by poking around the pillows with his crowbar, pulling one up to glance underneath and unceremoniously dropping the fluffy cushion back upon the mattress, satisfied.

"Why.. Are you _here_?" Peter asks, carefully making his way back to his bed, completey aware of his current state of undress.

Deadpool hums happily, "I brought you tacos. Everybody likes tacos. And those who don't.. get _k-worded_ first." His last sentence comes out in a sing-song, crowbar moving along the imaginary tune.

"That's.." He starts his reply, weighing his words wisely, "Not exactly a good reason." He decides to add, "I love Mexican food though."

"Course you do! You'd name your son Taco if you had one." His mattress wobbles when the mercenary plops down and curls into a flashy ball, nuzzling his cheek into the soft material of his sheets. "So, I can crash here, right? 'Cause I might've pissed off some dude with eight arms, tentacles?, mechanic **thingies**?, and he's put a price on my head. So I thought, well, why not pay a visit to my Spidey-pal? He'll surely take care of me."

Peter feels his jaw going slack, as if every muscle in his face decided to call it quits for the night and he's stuck with a shell-shocked expression. "What?!" He shrieks, taking another step or two into Deeadpool's direction. "No.. No way, _nu-uh_, not happening."

"Peter?! What's going on, sweetie?" His aunt's voice rings from the hallway and from underneath the slit of his bedroom door, light peeks lazily. This telltale sign makes him groan out in frustration.

Meanwhile Deadpool rolls on his bed and spreads both his arms and legs, grinning lazily up to him. Realizing he's pretty much cornered, the teen rubs the bridge of his nose and forces himself to answer, "No.. Nothing! Just a bad dream, don't worry." He crosses his fingers that she wouldn't come inside.

Seriously how would he explain that there's a mercenary for hire trying to sleep in his bed with a crowbar next to him and a bag of Taco Bell on his desk? Besides, Deadpool isn't stable, he's proved himself to be a dangerous and unpredictable adversary to the extent that Taskmaster couldn't even copy his fighting-style. It would be irresponsible of him to endanger aunt May. Now the question remains how he's going to persuade Deadpool to lea.. _Wait, back up_, Peter's mind nearly goes into overdrive at the moment,_ did that idiot say he pissed off Doc Ock?!_

After a beat or two, his aunt turns the lights off and the sound of her door closing gently invades his eardrum, followed shortly by a metallic click. Peter turns back to Deadpool, who seems to have fallen asleep during his internal debate session. He's hugging his crowbar close to his chest, wrinkles smoothing underneath his mask.

"Great.. This is freakin' priceless, really." He mutters to himself and precariously sits down on his bed, his backside nearly brushing against Deadpool's feet. "I'll kick him out in the morning." His gaze sweeps over the digits blinking on the screen of his alarm clock. "Definitely deal with him in the mornin'." He manages to conquer a patch of mattress for himself and pulls his quilt, normally folded up at his feet, over his body.

When he wakes up, a pair of amused almond-shaped eyes glitter in the dark confines of his bedroom, directly opposite of him, and once he's managed to blink the sleep away, Peter realizes two equally horrifying things. One would be that Ava Ayala, his girlfriend and ninja extraordinaire, is seated on his desk, staring at him in concentration. Two would be that Deadpool seemed to have manoeuvered him against the mercenary's chest in his sleep and he's currently being embraced by an assassin. Either way, he's pretty much _screwed_.

Ava, in costume sans mask, raises a delicate eyebrow, "Do I _even_ want to know?" Behind her, the sunrise paints the sky different shades of light blues, orange and pink. His window frame remains irrevocably broken, though.

Peter groans, trying to move out of Deadpool's hug but a pair of strong arms pull him back, accompanied by a low almost needy whine. "I think I'm safe-housin' a maniac without realizing it?"

"We have school in two hours, better get yourself outta this mess, loverboy." She drawls, swinging her legs back and forth.

Turning around so he's facing the mercenary, the teen frees one of his arms and uses his available hand to push a couple of times against Deadpool's shoulder. He stirs, but doesn't quite rouse from his slumber. Peter tries again, harder this time and makes a point of hissing the assassin's name a few times. It happens in a split-second: Deadpool pushes him down onto the mattress, both of his shoulders being held down by strong flat palms, his masked face unbearably close to his own, until one hand eases pressure, disappears and a crowbar is almost being slammed against his windpipe. Luckily for him, White Tiger jumps into action and kicks the mercenary off her boyfriend, claws unsheathed and eyes gleaming in excitement and fear. Peter winds up on the ceiling in a reflex, watching how the two struggle and tries to aim for Deadpool's back, so he could land onto the mercenary and pin him to the floor for a change.

"Tiger!" He exclaims, happily despite the fact that she's got her legs wound around his waist and a set of sharp talons set against his throat. He crushes the girl against himself completely in an enthusiastic bear hug, "Whassa matta, gorgeous?"

Her reaction is icy, "You _tried_ to kill my boyfriend, that's what."

Deadpool frowns, confused, and looks around to gauge his surroundings, "This ain't my apartment." His gaze lands on the boy stuck to the ceiling and it seems like he's puzzled one and two together, "Oh.. Oh. _Oh_! Sorry 'bout that. Instincts takin' over. Better not wake a sleepin' bear and all. Hey-a, baby boy." He greets cheerily, still holding Ava in his arms.

Peter, annoyed and doubtlessly jealous, remarks coolly, "You can put her down now. And get out. And close the door when you leave." He drops himself, rotating himself a full 180 to land face-down on the mattress.

Rolling her eyes at the lack of reaction, Ava flips out of Deadpool's embrace and lands flawlessly on her two feet. Her hair sways and clings to her shoulders. "What are you doin' here, Deadpool?"

"Funny story, actually. Why don't you come sit on papa's lap and I'll tell you all 'bout it?" He manages to wink with a mask on. Peter doesn't know whether to be amazed or irritated and settles for a combination of both.

Ava shuts the mercenary up with a kick to his upper-arm and gets no retaliation in return. She smirks proudly and strolls over to the bed, sitting down next to her boyfriend. Peter takes the subtle cue to sit behind her, legs spread so she's sitting between them and winds his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Deadpool remains silent, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You two are makin' me sick with your _cutie-wutie_ ways." Tiger picks up the envy in his tone and exhales loudly before gesturing the assassin to come take a seat next to them.

She feels rather than sees Peter's surprise in the way he tenses but she manages to dissuade him by rubbing her back against his chest. "Answers, now." Fingertips delve into the dips next to her hipbones.

"Kinda pissed off some big shot." Deadpool says, tone of voice light and unearthly chipper. He continues with a giggle, perched on top of the pillows next to the couple, "Nutjob wanted me to go fetch some coma-patient for 'em. But I said, no way José, I don't deal in kidnappin', gives me way too many headaches." Ava and Peter share an understanding look. "So he kind of flipp'd out, went _**wack**_, y'know and he sent a humanoid rhinoceros after me and a robo-squid and I might've freaked and drove off. And that's how I found Spidey and Iron Fist cruisin'."

"Wait? You got me and Da.. I mean Iron Fist in that mess?!" Ava hushes him by lacing their fingers together.

Deadpool watches the gesture attentively, before replying, "Uh, no hard feelings? But, yeah. Besides I know Iron Fist's name, y'know. Kinda worked him in the seven.. Oh, duh, I mean on the Heli before I went buh-bye."

"Thanks for the info." Ava responds, letting go of one of her boyfriend's hands to pat Deadpool on the knee. He grins wildly, bumping his leg against Peter's almost immediately. She nearly falls with her entire weight against her boyfriend and murmurs, "We should notify Coulson as soon as possible."

"Right, of course. This is actually kind of huge." He says, leaning with his temple against her cheek. "Would prefer breakfast first though."

At the mention of food, the mercenary pipes up again, "Oooh, I'm starvin'! That's a _great_ idea, baby boy. Don't we have taco's left?!" His leg remains plastered against the teen's, but he's managing to bounce up and down, thrilled.

Ava coughs, "Oh, well, they're probably cold by now..."

"You ate them, didn't you?" Peter accuses, smiling fondly.

Deadpool presses his hands against his cheeks, "How could you? You're hella lucky you're pretty, missy."

Rolling her eyes, she pecks her boyfriend's cheek and stands up, nearly dragging Peter along with her because he refuses to let go of her hand. "They would've gone cold and patrollin' made me hungry. Sue me, Web-Head. 'Sides, better hurry up to prepare for school." She turns to Deadpool, "You realize I gotta take you back with me to SHIELD, right?"

"I'ma stay by the fridge." He decides firmly, falling down on his back almost dramatically. "But you'll come back for me alone, won'tcha, Tiger?" Peter promptly stomps him in the ribs.

He then hisses, "You can't stay here! My aunt's home and I still don't trust you!"

"That hurts, Spidey. Like, right in the sack, bro. I'll be good though. Promise. Don't take me to Fury or Coulson or the mental.. No, not the mental institution. Got 'nough problems as it is, regardless if there's another hot chick-doctor crazing me up. _No, no, no, no_ mental institution. Not sick." He finishes hurriedly.

Ava looks worried, before motioning she'd talk to him about Deadpool later. Outside, the morning sun shines brightly, streaking bright hot rays of sunlight through the glass. Her hair shines in the excess light and Peter would normally run his fingers, spread and eager, through her unruly tresses but instead, he's stuck with a deranged mercenary.

"Deadpool." She addresses him suddenly, "I trust ya not to make a mess. One wrong move and I'm clawin' up your face and taking you in custody. Got that?" He salutes, two fingers in the air. Ava turns to Peter, smiling, "I'll see you in a few. Play nice." Her demand is accompanied by a playful wink.

Carefully pushing the window open and slipping outside, his girlfriend crouches on the window sill to prepare for a flawless jump, her mask is pulled down to her chin again and she takes a moment to take in the pleasant breeze and amiable silence before she leaps into the air, aims for the neighbour's roof, somersaults onto the tiles and soon stands on her feet. She has approximately one hour and thirteen minutes to get to the Tri-Carrier, change into civilian clothes and finish the last question of her Literature homework; Ava smirks to herself, sprinting and jumping from rooftop to rooftop, this would be a _slice of cake._

.

Considering the fact that there are _new episodes _-I can't wait for the Halloween special, actually-, I've decided to try and tie this story in with the show's plotline. Up until Norman makes an appearance anyway. _Wish me luck!_


End file.
